


Let's Be Alone Together

by ritsuko



Series: The Bear and the Buttercup [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Budding Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Heartbreak, M/M, Minor Injuries, Monsters, Near Death Experiences, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Rescue, Self-Pity, Singing, Unrequited Love, Woobie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?Jaskier flees from the mountain, only to get lost and in trouble? Is this the end for our precocious poet?
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bear and the Buttercup [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665943
Comments: 49
Kudos: 290
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	Let's Be Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> THIS PAIRING IS PURE AJADJFJKSGHDJADHFADK

It hadn't been Jaskier's intention to get lost.

But, to be quite honest, whereas he'd followed Geralt, Yennefer and a handful of dwarves up the bloody mountain, he'd had no intention of going back down the same way. Not that he honestly could, with the route being destroyed.

He'd gone back to the camp, dejected as a chided pup with his tail between his legs to gather his lute and things. The dwarves had been breaking camp, reveling in their newfound riches and status. All signs of the witch had disappeared like smoke, as if Yennefer had never been there to begin with.

And Geralt-

Jaskier finds it hard to breathe, thinking of the man's back turned resolutely from him. 

_Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?_

The man's rough voice still resounded through his head, blaming him for problems well beyond his control.

It wasn't fair! He hadn't done a damn thing! Tearfully, he'd stormed down the side of the mountain, ignoring the calls of the dwarves calling him a crazy git, and gone with his original plan. 

To hell with it all, he'd go to the ocean anyhow. He knew the way to get there. . .

At least, he would know the way, from any roadside or major town with proper signposts. The last three days he'd been making his way down the side of a mountain, dodging random wolves, and other unfriendly critters of the wild. At one point, he'd finally reached the base of the mountains, overjoyed to find a stream, and then decidedly less overjoyed when he'd looked up to find a scraggly bear watching him.

Jaskier had fled so quickly after that, he isn't even sure where he is now.

Now, the sun has set, the moon hung heavy in the sky, he was thirsty, he is hungry and worst of all, he's dirty. 

Granted, he is starting to feel more than a little sorry for himself. Even angry at the Witcher.

Him? Shoveling Geralt's shit? As if Jaskier had invoked the Law of Surprise? As if Jaskier hadn't told Geralt to leave Yennefer to her fate, djinn or no djinn? 

He grits his teeth so hard they ache. In the nearly two decades he's intermittently traveled with the man, he thought he's meant at least SOMETHING to the Witcher.

"Ahhhh! Pox on you, you stupid asshole!" He screams at the sky, because as of now, he's far as can be from Geralt, from civilization, from anyone.

Without thinking, he kicks at a stick on the ground. Petty, but he wants to imagine the other man feeling some small amount of the hurt that Jaskier is feeling.

Instead, the branch dislodges, trips him, and the bard finds himself tumbling ass over end down an incline. Instinctively he grabs for his lute, tucking his body around it as if it were a babe.

Right now its the only thing that he has left. 

Jaskier hisses in pain as he feels his clothing snag, and suddenly there's a sharp pain in his thigh from it connecting with something. He cries out and finally, his body comes to a stop.

Shakily, he opens his eyes. All around him, it stinks, like something is rotting. Looking up, he gasps as his gaze comes in contact with a very human looking skull. As it turns out, there are bones all around him, as well as shredded clothes, old blood, rotting flesh-

"Oh gods," he moans, before quickly shutting up. He needs to be quiet. After all, what the hell could this be? Another twinge of anger at Geralt for not being here blossoms in his chest, as well as terror at the thought of what is actually going to happen to him.

Something growls lightly to his left. In a panic, Jaskier bolts up, even though his leg is throbbing with pain. He can see it dimly in the moonlight, a bald, grayish, humanoid creature on all fours snarling lowly at him. Talons adorn the creature's fingers and it wears no clothing. It stinks of dead things.

Jaskier feels the blood drain from his face.

He's going to die.

_'If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!'_

It's a horrible thought, but as the creature snarls at him, he thinks of those last words on Geralts lips.

Maybe that wish is going to come true.

But Jaskier is human after all.

He runs.

Not that he can run far or fast. His leg is definitely bleeding, he can feel it slick and dribbling downwards. The creature behind him, as far as he can tell, hasn't moved a muscle. For a moment, he dares to hope.

Could he possibly get away? 

Or is the thing toying with him?

His question is answered when another bounds out from behind a tree, blocking his path. He stops sharply, falling back on his rear as those glowing eyes watch him hungrily. Three more materialize out of the darkness, saliva dribbling from their terrible maws.

Yes. He's going to die.

The creatures start to circle him. Well. Nothing to do about it then. He's terrified. Heartbroken. That this is to be his end. Forgotten in the middle of nowhere.

Alone.

All he can do is die as he lived.

"Permit me if you will," He rasps out, mindful of the beasts surrounding him. "But I've been working on something, and I think it's rather good. I'd hoped I'd get to play it. . . but well. Here we are."

There is no movement, just low snarls. It's all Jaskier needs to goad himself on.

He starts to sing with a whisper.

_The fairer sex, they often call it  
But her love's as unfair as a crook  
It steals all my reason  
Commits every treason  
Of logic, with naught but a look_

The creatures pause, tilting their heads the way dogs do when they hear a strange noise. Well. If they haven't ripped into him yet, he might as well continue. Slowly, he continues singing, pulling his lute to his body correctly before his fingers start to dance over the strings in accompaniment.

_A storm breaking on the horizon  
Of longing and heartache and lust  
She's always bad news  
It's always lose, lose  
So tell me love, tell me love  
How is that just?_

He has gotten louder, bolder with his singing, his voice and instrument the only sounds between quiet snarls and growls. In a way it feels poetic. The last song he'll sing will be the one dedicated to the one who ripped his life apart.

Who took the one thing he cared the most about from him.

It might be the best performance of his life.

_But the story is this  
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss  
Her sweet kiss  
But the story is this-_

There's a snarl to his right, and a yelp of pain. All he can see in the dimmness is the movement of shadows and the silver of a blade flashing through the moon filtered trees. His heart leaps in his chest as one of the creatures falls, and another.

It's then he realizes that the original monster he'd come face to face with is still watching, still staring. With horror, he realizes it is starting to tense backwards like a cat about to pounce through the air towards him-

Jaskier closes his eyes with a whimper, but nothing happens. 

No, something happens. He feels something wet splash against his cheek. Before he can reach up and rub at it, there's a soft "Don't."

Geralt? Could it be him? Had he cared enough to track him, to save him?

He feels a damp cloth on his face and stiffens. " 'sokay, you don' want ghoul blood in your mouth." He relaxes, but something feels off. The voice, it doesn't sound like Geralt.

"You c'n open your eyes. I got mos' of it off." The voice rumbles lowly. The bard blinks slowly, letting the world come back into focus. There's a large man standing in front of him.

When Jaskier looks up into his blood smeared face, it's not that of his White Wolf. Where there should be long tresses of white grey, instead are simple dark chin length locks. A scar cuts jagged like lightning from the man's right brow to his chin, ripping through the flesh of his lips. It gives the appearance of a bitter snarl.

Thie Witcher's eyes are solemn; not unkind.

"'re you 'lright?" The Witcher half mumbles, half lisps, a deep baritone. Jaskier can't help but watch the man, transfixed. The scar looks so terribly painful-

The man jerks his head away, allowing the bard to only glance at his left profile. He makes it seem like he's wiping the blood away from his own brow, but the bard can tell that the man is self conscious about this. For a moment, Jaskier feels terrible, the thought that this Witcher is somehow ashamed of his scars is somewhat strange to him, after all of his time traveling with Geralt.

Geralt. . .

The name still stings.

"Yes, I. . . thanks to you. Surely if you hadn't come along I'd have been done for." Jaskier murmurs, cheeks suddenly growing hot. 

"That was pretty impressive. Never realized ghouls liked the soun' of music before." The man states, while fumbling for something in his pack. After pulling out a vial he takes several steps away, assessing the ground before dousing the debris with the liquid.

Then, with a complicated hand movement, it's burning.

Jaskier watches, transfixed. "Just lucky I guess."

The Witcher turns back to him and kneels. "Well, 's long as you're fine. No bites?"

He must not answer quickly enough, because before Jaskier can say anything, the Witcher starts touching him gently, his arms first and then his chest. The bard's heart stutters in his chest and he looks up at the other man. "Um, excuse me, do you just palm every person you happen to save, or am I just lucky?"

The Witcher's hands still on his sides, delicately close to his hip bones. Those golden cat eyes are unreadable. Half his face, the scarred side, is still cast in shadow. Jaskier wonders if he's practiced the move long enough for it to be second nature. 

"I smell blood. You're knicked. Ghoul spit c'n turn septic if left unchecked." The man raises an eyebrow at him. "Unless you wan' to rot from the inside out?"

Jaskier pales, before glowering at the man. "Melitele's tits, you Witchers are all nothing but doom and gloom! I tripped on the hill, fell into that hole full of monsters. Cut my leg on a stone or something on the way down. Hopefully I'll be exempt from any such ailments?"

"Hard to say. If you saw the stone, you're probably fine. If maybe it was a piece of bone or something though. . .If they cracked open those bones and sucked the marrow out, there might still be traces of saliva. Let me see."

"Wonderful." Jaskier moans, before thrusting his calf out to the man. The Witcher's strong, gloved hands gently take hold of his ankle and examined his torn breeches.

In the light of the fire, Jaskier can see that his pant leg is soaked through with blood. With a frown, the Witcher takes out a hunting knife, and the bard pales.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demands, and once again those solemn eyes are on him.

"I need to see the wound. 'm gonna cut the fabric away. Unless you want me to just take off your pants?" He states obliquely, and Jaskier stares incredulously at him.

"I. . ."

"May I cut your breeches, good bard?" The man states, a small bit of humor creeping into his voice. 

"The thing is, sir, these are fine Toussaint silks. . ." he doesn't mean to sound snippy, but he knows he does. He'd splurged for the damn outfit and now? To just have it ripped from him?

"I'm pretty sure that you're not going to get the blood out.

Jaskier squares his shoulders and stuck his lip out. "I am pretty sure, Witcher, that if you shred my breeches I will have no way of knowing. So, I would rather they be taken off than cut."

The dark haired mutant stares at him a moment, and then chuckled lowly under his breath. "No wonder those ghouls were too transfixed to eat you. Fine. Do you need my help?"

It turns out that the only help Jaskier needs is to be propped up slightly as he works his breeches out from under his bottom. When Jaskier sees the purpling bruise and jagged cut on his leg, he pales.

It looks worse than it is, he reasons with himself. It has to be. The Witcher hums off key under his breath, pulling some other vial out of another pouch, along with a bit of bandage. 

"This'll sting." He warns.

And it does. Jaskier can't help but cry out sharply, The world tilts slightly, and he has to grab onto the Witcher's free arm to keep from passing out. Quickly the man cleans and dresses the wound. By the time the Witcher is finished, the bard is panting heavily from the pain. The other man gives a somewhat dissatisfied rumble in his chest as he helps Jaskier pull his britches back up.

"You can't walk on this." The Witcher grumbles slightly, brow furrowing. With a sigh he stands, bringing to fingers and his thumb to his lips. A shrill whistle rings out and before long he hears a horse trotting towards them. The Witcher reaches a hand out to him.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so?" He says, but honestly, he feels shaky.

Jaskier grabs onto the man's gloved hand, strong and firm under his fingers. He manages to rise, but the instant he puts weight on the leg, he hisses and falls against the stranger. With a sigh, the Witcher holds him upright. "Scorpion!" He calls out, clicking his tongue, and the beast appears. The gelding is the color of midnight, eyes a dark amber. He comes to a stop next to them, pawing lightly at the ground. 

"Come on then." The Witcher states matter of factly, picking the bard up damsel style. Before he can protest, Jaskier is deposited onto the horse's back. The bear of a man grabs Jaskier's satchel and lute and ties them to the horses' saddle, next to the nightmarish head of some draconic looking thing. 

He really hopes the blood won't stain his lute.

Before he can say anything, the Witcher is mounting up behind him. 

Jaskier can't help but blush. Even the first time he'd met Geralt, the man would not even let him touch Roach. Yet this Witcher is letting him ride with him.

The Witcher is strange, but decidedly not a bad person. after all, he'd trussed his wounds, saved his breeches, and was giving him a free ride.

It struck the bard then that he still didnt know his name.

"I, I didn't catch your name. I'm Jaskier."

"Eskel. There's a town not far from here. 't's where I got the bounty for those ghouls." The Witcher takes up the reins in one hand, and wove the other around his middle. The bard's blush deepens as he is pulled close to the the other man's chest.

The bard fights off the desire to snuggle back against the man that he doesn't even know. He feels warm, safe.

Even covered in blood and goddess knew what else.

"Um, thank you for your help."

"It's kind of what I do." The man nudges the horse into a trot, and they deftly pick their way out of the underbrush.

"Really? I thought that you worked for payment."

"There will be payment enough from the alderman. You actually distracted those ghouls long enough to keep anything worse from happening. Let's call it even."

"Huh. Here I thought you'd want some coin, or to invoke the Law of Sur-"

"No." It's the first time that the other man has spoken harshly. Jaskiers mouth slams shut. There's an awkward silence until the man clears his throat. "The last thing I need is the child surprise of some bard tagging along at my heels, if you'll forgive me. If you really want to pay me back, I could do with a hot bath."

"Same." Jaskier moaned. "It's been days."

"I can tell."

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. "No need to be rude!"

"Not trying to be, I just. . . can tell." Eskel mumbles, and the bard laughs, before stifling a yawn.

"It's okay to sleep if you need. I've got you."

"I'm not tired." Jaskier lies, even though his eyelids are drooping.

"Bullshit. I can tell you've been through a lot." refelxively, the Witcher's arm tighten's around his middle, and he feels his heart stutter again. "You're safe. I won't let you fall, and I won't let anything hurt you, Jaskier."

And he doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm orcbae pretty much everywhere.
> 
> Please, if you enjoyed, leave a comment. Even if it's a simple 'i liked it!' It helps me focus! :3
> 
> (Also, yes the title is a FOB song SUE ME)


End file.
